Beautiful Joe [61]
but Mrs. Wood's face got like a red poppy, and
Miss Laura bit her lip, and Mr. Maxwell buried his head in his arms, his whole
frame shaking.
The boy who told the story looked very angry. He jumped up again. "My uncle's a
true man, Phil Dodge, and never told a lie in his life."
The president remained standing, his face a deep scarlet, and a tall boy at the
back of the room got up and said, "Mr. President, what would be impossible in
this climate, might be possible in a hot country like India. Doesn't heat
sometimes draw up and preserve things?"
The president's face cleared. "Thank you for the suggestion," he said. "I don't
want to hurt anybody's feelings; but you know there is a rule in the band that
only true stories are to be told here. We have five more minutes for foreign
stories. Has any one else one?"
CHAPTER XX STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS
A SMALL girl, with twinkling eyes and a merry face, got up, just behind Miss
Laura, and made her way to the front. "My dranfadder says," she began, in a
piping little voice, "dat when he was a little boy his fadder brought him a
little monkey from de West Indies. De naughty boys in de village used to tease
de little monkey, and he runned up a tree one day. Dey was drowing stones at
him, and a man dat was paintin' de house druv 'em away. De monkey runned down de
tree, and shook hands wid de man. My dranfadder saw him," she said, with a shake
of her head at the president, as if she was afraid he would doubt her.
There was great laughing and clapping of hands when this little girl took her
seat, and she hopped right up again and ran back. "Oh, I fordot," she went on,
in her squeaky, little voice, "dat my dranfadder says dat afterward de monkey
upset de painter's can of oil, and rolled in it, and den jumped down in my
dranfadder's flour barrel."
The president looked very much amused, and said, "We have had some good stories
about monkeys, now let us have some more about our home animals. Who can tell us
another story about a horse?"
Three or four boys jumped up, but the president said they would take one at a
time. The first one was this: A Riverdale boy was walking along the bank of a
canal in Hoytville. He saw a boy driving two horses, which were towing a canal-
boat. The first horse was lazy, and the boy got angry and struck him several
times over the head with his whip. The Riverdale boy shouted across to him,
begging him not to be so cruel; but the boy paid no attention. Suddenly the
horse turned, seized his tormentor by the shoulder, and pushed him into the
canal. The water was not deep, and the boy, after floundering about for a few
seconds, came out dripping with mud and filth, and sat down on the tow path, and
looked at the horse with such a comical expression, that the Riverdale boy had
to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth to keep from laughing.
"It is to be hoped that he would learn a lesson," said the president, "and be
kinder to his horse in the future. Now, Bernard Howe, your story."
The boy was a brother to the little girl who had told the monkey story, and he,
too, had evidently been talking to his grandfather. He told two stories, and
Miss Laura listened eagerly, for they were about Fairport.
The boy said that when his grandfather was young, he lived in Fairport, Maine.
On a certain day he stood in the market square to see their first stage-coach
put together. It had come from Boston in pieces, for there was no one in
Fairport that could make one. The coach went away up into the country one day,
and came back the next. For a long time no one understood driving the horses
properly, and they came in day after day with the blood streaming from them. The
whiffletree would swing round and hit them, and when their collars were taken
off, their necks would be raw and bloody. After a time, the men got to
understand how to drive a coach, and the horses did not suffer so much.
The other story was about a team-boat, not a steamboat. More than seventy years
ago,
Miss Laura bit her lip, and Mr. Maxwell buried his head in his arms, his whole
frame shaking.
The boy who told the story looked very angry. He jumped up again. "My uncle's a
true man, Phil Dodge, and never told a lie in his life."
The president remained standing, his face a deep scarlet, and a tall boy at the
back of the room got up and said, "Mr. President, what would be impossible in
this climate, might be possible in a hot country like India. Doesn't heat
sometimes draw up and preserve things?"
The president's face cleared. "Thank you for the suggestion," he said. "I don't
want to hurt anybody's feelings; but you know there is a rule in the band that
only true stories are to be told here. We have five more minutes for foreign
stories. Has any one else one?"
CHAPTER XX STORIES ABOUT ANIMALS
A SMALL girl, with twinkling eyes and a merry face, got up, just behind Miss
Laura, and made her way to the front. "My dranfadder says," she began, in a
piping little voice, "dat when he was a little boy his fadder brought him a
little monkey from de West Indies. De naughty boys in de village used to tease
de little monkey, and he runned up a tree one day. Dey was drowing stones at
him, and a man dat was paintin' de house druv 'em away. De monkey runned down de
tree, and shook hands wid de man. My dranfadder saw him," she said, with a shake
of her head at the president, as if she was afraid he would doubt her.
There was great laughing and clapping of hands when this little girl took her
seat, and she hopped right up again and ran back. "Oh, I fordot," she went on,
in her squeaky, little voice, "dat my dranfadder says dat afterward de monkey
upset de painter's can of oil, and rolled in it, and den jumped down in my
dranfadder's flour barrel."
The president looked very much amused, and said, "We have had some good stories
about monkeys, now let us have some more about our home animals. Who can tell us
another story about a horse?"
Three or four boys jumped up, but the president said they would take one at a
time. The first one was this: A Riverdale boy was walking along the bank of a
canal in Hoytville. He saw a boy driving two horses, which were towing a canal-
boat. The first horse was lazy, and the boy got angry and struck him several
times over the head with his whip. The Riverdale boy shouted across to him,
begging him not to be so cruel; but the boy paid no attention. Suddenly the
horse turned, seized his tormentor by the shoulder, and pushed him into the
canal. The water was not deep, and the boy, after floundering about for a few
seconds, came out dripping with mud and filth, and sat down on the tow path, and
looked at the horse with such a comical expression, that the Riverdale boy had
to stuff his handkerchief in his mouth to keep from laughing.
"It is to be hoped that he would learn a lesson," said the president, "and be
kinder to his horse in the future. Now, Bernard Howe, your story."
The boy was a brother to the little girl who had told the monkey story, and he,
too, had evidently been talking to his grandfather. He told two stories, and
Miss Laura listened eagerly, for they were about Fairport.
The boy said that when his grandfather was young, he lived in Fairport, Maine.
On a certain day he stood in the market square to see their first stage-coach
put together. It had come from Boston in pieces, for there was no one in
Fairport that could make one. The coach went away up into the country one day,
and came back the next. For a long time no one understood driving the horses
properly, and they came in day after day with the blood streaming from them. The
whiffletree would swing round and hit them, and when their collars were taken
off, their necks would be raw and bloody. After a time, the men got to
understand how to drive a coach, and the horses did not suffer so much.
The other story was about a team-boat, not a steamboat. More than seventy years
ago,